XI
I was down in the kitchen before six o'clock. The girl had put some bread and butter on the table, a cup of tea and an egg. My heart was so full I could not eat but I managed to drink the tea. I then turned to the place where I had stacked my bundles of bandages the night before. They were gone, even the knapsack that held my few days' rations.
"Where are all my things gone to?" I asked.
"The soldiers took them away last night."
"When?" I asked. "How did they come to see them?"
"After they came down from your room the first time," she replied. "They asked me who owned those bundles. I said the girl upstairs. Then they examined them, called in the soldiers and told them to take those bundles."
"Did they take the haversack with my rations?"
"They took everything. And they asked me the name of the girl upstairs. And I said I didn't know; that you came last night and asked for a night's lodging, and that I never turned any one away from the door."
"You told them that!" I cried. "Did you want to make them suspect me? Do you usually give your guest room to women tramps? In the name of Heaven, how could you be so foolish?"
"Well," she said. "I wasn't going to let on that I knew you."
"What will I do?" I said. "Now they will be on the watch for me. I can't go to Clogher by train. I'll have to walk. How far is it?"
"It's not five miles," she answered. "You can walk it easily. About two miles from it you will come to a place called Ballygawley, and there you can get a tram that will take you to Clogher."
"Five miles," I said. "I'll get there easily before noon. Which way do I go?"
Before she answered a woman came in with a message from the girl's brother. She looked at me suspiciously till she was told who I was. I told her that I was going to walk to Clogher to get my sister who was there, and that after that we would make our way to Dublin.
"To Clogher!" she said and looked at me in astonishment.
"Yes," I said. "Does your road go near Ballygawley? If so, I'll go with you and you can point it out to me."
"Yes," she answered. "But——"
But I was already on my way to get the suitcase and did not wait to listen to her objections. As I came down again I heard the girl say:
"—that's what I'd like to know."
"Well," I said. "What I'd like to know is who the girls were who brought the message to Dublin from Tyrone. There were two, I know; one was redhaired but it was the other delivered the message by word of mouth. I'd like to know who she is."
"I brought the message," said the girl who belonged to the house.
"You brought the message," I said and stared at her. "YOU—did you know that it was a wrong one? Don't you know that you reported a false state of affairs? How could you?"
"Well enough," she answered. "You've ruined this farm with your capers. The men are unsettled, my two brothers are in hiding, and not a thing being done on the farm."
"Farm," I repeated and turned to the visitor. I saw her blush for her acquaintance with the woman who had no soul but for a farm.
"Come," said the visitor to me. "I'll show you the road." And without another word we left. We went silently on our way. We crossed fields which brought us out on to a road, along which we walked for about ten minutes till we came to a branching of it. "We'll go up here," said my guide. I saw that it was a kind of boreen leading up to a very small farm cottage. As soon as we entered the woman turned to me and said, "We're not all like that"—not saying who or what she meant. Then again she said, "It's our shame and disgrace that our men are not helping the men in Dublin." A young man had risen from his seat when we entered. She next spoke to him and gave him a message. "It's for him," she said, nodding her head in the direction we had come from.
As she pointed to me she said to the young man, "She's going to walk to Clogher."
"To Clogher," he repeated. "It's a long walk."
"I've the day before me," I answered.
"Well, I've got my message to deliver or I'd go part of the way with you. It wouldn't be so long or lonely if you had company."
"Thank you," I said. "But I'll get along all right."
"Can I do anything for you before you start?" asked the woman when he was gone.
"Yes," I said. "You can give me a drink of water."
"Water!" she exclaimed. "Water! Indeed you'll get no water from me! You'll just take a long drink of milk. You'll need some nourishment to bring you over the long walk that's before you." With that she handed me a huge bowl of milk. She stood by me till I finished it, then she asked me if I had anything with me to eat in case I got hungry on the way.
"No," I replied. "The D.I. and his men took away the bag containing my rations."
"Well," she said, "you've got to have something." She commenced to butter some biscuits.
"Don't bother," I said to her. "I'll get along all right without that. I'll be in Clogher about twelve."
"O, you will," she said. "Well, just take these in case you don't. And I don't think you will."
I took the biscuits, then lifted up my suitcase and started to leave the house. "Wait a minute," she cried. She went into a room and returned with a Holy Water bottle. She sprinkled me with it and said, "May God bless and look after you, and bring you safely to your journey's end."
She then pointed out the road to me and I began my walk to Clogher. The road lay between low, flat-lying lands for the better part of two miles. There was neither hedge nor ditch dividing the fields from the road; nor were there any trees for shade. It was a most lonely road; I walked on for hours and never met a soul. The sun was roasting hot that day, and I was heavily laden. Besides the suitcase containing the two kits which I was carrying, I was wearing a tweed skirt and a raincoat over my uniform. As I walked, the fields on one side of the road changed and in their place were bogs. An intolerable thirst grew upon me and there was nothing with which to slake it.
Gradually the road became a mountain road. Had I not been so tired, what with the weight of the suitcases and the clothes I was wearing and the broiling sun, I could have admired the quiet, shadeless road that stretched along for miles trimming the skirt of the mountains. The mountains sloped away so gently from the road as to seem no more than hills. Patches of olive green and brown edged with a brighter green rose one above the other, each one more pleasing. Here and there the trimming was the golden furze or whin bushes; and on towards the top patches of purple and blue told of the presence of wild hyacinths. And above all was the pure blue and white of the sky. Below, the mountains, on the left of the road stretched the bog as far as I could see, brown, brown, browner, and finally black. Here and there, standing cut sharply against the dark background, danced the ceanawan—the bogrose—disputing for place with the ever-present furze. Yet all I could think of was that I must walk for miles on that lonely country road, with never a tree for shade and never a house to get a drink in.
I knew by the height of the sun that it was nearly twelve o'clock, yet I had not come to Ballygawley. In terror I thought for an instant that I had taken the wrong road, and then I remembered that the woman had told me that there was only the one road until I came to Sixmilecross.
At a distance from me and walking towards me I saw an old man. I tried to hurry towards him but could not. With every step the suitcase was growing heavier and my hands were becoming so sore that to hold the handle was absolute pain. And my thirst was growing. I could not understand how it was that I had not met with running water, it is usually so plentiful in Ireland. Finally my thirst grew so clamorous that I knelt down by the bog, lifted some of the brackish, stagnant bog-water in my hands and drank it. Immediately I began to think, "What if I contract some illness from drinking that water—what if I get fever——" And I had visions of being taken ill by the roadside with no one to look after me. Rut the old man was very near me now, and as we came abreast I asked him, "Am I near Ballygawley?"
"Ballygawley," he replied. "Daughter dear, you are six weary long miles from Ballygawley."
"Six miles!" I thought in despair. "How had the girl made such a mistake?"
I stumbled on till I was completely worn out and not able to go more than a few yards at a time. And then, while I sat by the roadside feeling that I could not rise again, I saw two girls coming towards me on bicycles. When they were nearer I thought that I recognized a voice. And I was right, for one of the cyclists was my sister. I struggled up from the ditch and staggered out on to the road in dread that they might pass me. Agna jumped from her bicycle and let it fall to the ground as she saw me swaying. She helped me back to the ditch. All I could say to her at first was, "I'm thirsty, so thirsty." She peeled an orange and gave it to me. I knew that I was babbling all the time, but neither of us could remember what I had been saying when we tried to think of it afterwards. I did not know that I had been crying till Agna said, "Don't cry, Nora. Here, let me wipe your eyes." Then I saw where the tears had splashed down on my raincoat and felt that my cheeks were wet. I suppose I was weeping from sheer physical exhaustion.
"Weren't we lucky to come this road, Teasie? This is my sister Nora," said my sister to the girl who accompanied her. "We were going to take the lower road," she said, turning to me, "but we were told that although this was the longer it was the easier for cycling. And now, I'm glad we took the longer one, for if we hadn't we would never have met you."
"Where were you going?" I asked.
She told me.
"Why," I cried, "that is the place I have left."
"Is that so?" said Agna. "Then we needn't go. You can tell us the news. We wanted to find out what happened during the raid yesterday."
As I sat there on the ditch I told them all that had happened from the capture of the three thousand rounds of ammunition to my own expediences. When I finished Agna took the suitcase and balanced it on her bicycle and said:
"We may as well go back now."
"I'll cycle on in to Ballygawley," said Teasie, "and find out when there will be a train this afternoon. You can come on after me."
"How far are we from Ballygawley?" I asked.
"About two miles," she answered.
"Never mind," said Agna, when she saw my expression at that news. "We will go so slowly that you'll never notice it."
The three of us went slowly along the road, Agna and Teasie taking turns at carrying the suitcase. At a turn in the road Teasie mounted her bicycle and rode off. After we had walked a long distance I said:
"Agna, I can't walk any further. I'll have to sit down."
I sat for quite a while till Agna said, "Try again, Nora. Keep at it as long as you can. When we get to Ballygawley you'll not have any more walking to do."
"Wait a while," I answered.
While we were sitting Teasie returned.
"You'll be in plenty of time," she said.
I stood up and we started off again. When we arrived at the outskirts of Ballygawley Teasie said, "I called in at a house I knew, and they are making tea for us. You'll be refreshed after it."
It was into a shop we went and in a room back of it a table was laid, and tea was ready for us. I drank the tea thirstily but was too tired to eat, although various things were pressed on me. When tea was over Teasie said to Agna:
"We'll go on our bicycles and meet Nora at the station of Augher. That," she said, turning to me, "is the station before Clogher. I think it would be better to get off there than in the station at Clogher. Every one would see you and they would be making all the guesses in the world as to who you are. The police would see you, too, as you would have to go past the police station. If you get off at Augher you can cross the fields to our place without any one seeing you. That's all right, isn't it?"
"Yes," I said.
THOMAS MACDONAGH
They rode away. A young lad took my suitcase to the station for me and waited till the train came. The train was only the size of a trolley but had the dignified title of the Clogher Valley Railway. I sat in the corner and closed my eyes. I opened them at every stop to see if there was any sight of the girls. But it was not till the conductor called out, "Next stop Augher," that I had any glimpse of them. Over the hedge that divided the rails from the road I saw Agna's black curly head bobbing up and down and caught a smile from under Teasie's big-brimmed hat. They were peddling for all they were worth in an attempt not to be too far behind the train in arriving at Augher.
I waited at the station for about ten minutes before they came. They jumped off their bicycles; and we commenced to walk along the side of the rails. About fifteen minutes after we crossed over into a field. It was a stiff piece of work for the girls to push their bicycles through the fields and lift them over hedges. When we had gone through four fields we commenced to climb a hill. Near the top of the hill we clambered over another hedge and crossed one more field before we arrived at the farm which was Teasie's home. Teasie's father and mother had made it a home for Agna since she arrived at the town; and to me they also extended a very kindly welcome.
"She has walked all the way from Carrickmore," said Teasie to her mother. "We met her two miles outside of Ballygawley."
"Did you walk all that distance?" asked Mrs. Walsh.
"Yes," I answered. "I don't see how it took me so long to walk it, I'm usually a good walker."
"When did you start?" she asked me.
"Before eight," I answered.
"I think you did very well to walk it in one day," she returned. "Agna and Teasie were going to cycle there and stay over night because it was such a long ride."
"I was told that it wasn't five miles," I said.
"Five miles!" cried the mother. "It's fifteen if it's one, and a bad road at that. You'll want to rest after it. Take her into a bedroom, girls, and let her lie down."
The girls brought me to a bedroom and gave me cool water to bathe my face and hands and feet. Then they ordered me to go to bed. But although I went to bed I did not sleep.
I had been lying there for about two hours when Agna peeped in to see if I was awake.
"Come in," I said.
"Nora, what are we going to do?" was her first question.
"I am going to Dublin as soon as we can and you, of course, are going with me."
"I had my mind made up to try and get there to-morrow when we came back, but I am glad you are here, for now we can be together and won't have to worry about one another." She was speaking in her usual breathless fashion. "I'm afraid we can't go to-night," she said. "Did you hear that there is fighting in Ardee?"
"No," I answered. "I did not hear that; but if there is, we'll go there. It's on our way to Dublin. The men who are fighting will probably make their way to Dublin. If we can catch up with them we will be safer and more sure of getting there. Find out if there is a train to-night."
She went out and returned in a few minutes.
"No," she said. "There is no train to-night, but there is one leaving at five minutes to six in the morning."
"Well," I said. "I suppose we'll have to wait for that."
We caught the five minutes to six train in the morning. It brought us to a junction where we took tickets for Dundalk.
"You're going to a dangerous place," said the ticket agent.
"We won't mind that," we replied.
When we arrived at Dundalk the station was full of soldiers and constabulary. We hurried along out of the station so as not to attract attention. Agna went back and asked a porter if she could get a train to Dublin. The porter told her that the only train going there was a military one, and that the line was in the hands of the military. "There's no telling when there will be a train," he said.
It was then about one o'clock. "Come along," I said to Agna. "We will look for a restaurant and decide what we will do while we are eating." We walked down the street looking for a restaurant. At the foot of the street we saw one, a very small place. Just at the restaurant the street curved, and around the curve we saw that a barricade had been erected by the police authorities. Luckily we did not have to pass it to get to the restaurant. When we had entered and had given our order to the proprietress, she said that it would take some time—would we mind waiting? We assured her that we would not mind waiting and went into the parlor to talk over our situation.
The first decision arrived at was, that as we did not know the name of the villages and towns on the road to Dublin and could not hire a car to take us to any of them, it would be necessary for us to walk. Our next decision was that we would have to abandon our suitcase as it would be likely to attract attention. In order to carry out the second I told Agna that she must go out to buy some brown paper and string. Also, that while she was doing so she must find out if we would have to pass the barricade to get to the Dublin road. The reason why I sent Agna on this business, and did not go myself, was that Agna was so childish looking that no one would suspect her of trying to get to Dublin. Then again I knew that I could trust her to find any information necessary to us; she had been a girl scout and had learned the habit of observation. Also, her accent was more strongly Northern than mine.
With a parting adjuration from me not to be too long lest I become anxious, Agna went out on her errand. As she reached the door the proprietress came out of a room and said, "Are you going out, little girl?"
"Yes," said Agna, "I am going out to get a paper."
"Will you do a message for me while you are out?"
"Certainly," said Agna, "What is it?"
"Do you know the town?" asked the woman.
"No," said Agna, "I haven't been in it this long time." (She had never been in it before.)
"Well," said the woman. "I had better come to the door and show you the place I want you to go to." She did so and gave Agna a message to the butcher's. Agna was glad to do the message because if she were stopped now and asked where she was going to, she could give a definite answer. She left the door and walked towards the barricade. The policeman on duty there did not stop her as she walked through. The barricade was formed simply of country carts drawn across the roadway, leaving room for only one vehicle to pass through, and it was at this space that the policeman stood. As I sat by the window, I saw the policeman stop and examine cyclists, automobilists, and all other vehicles that were passing through. The barricade was on the road running from Dublin to Belfast.
Within twenty minutes Agna returned. She came into the parlor and gave me a bundle of brown paper and string, and then went out to deliver up her other message. She came back quickly and began to tell me the result of her observations. The best thing was that we were on the right side of the barricade and we should not have to pass it when we started out. But her next bit of information was not so pleasant; it was that according to the automobile signs there were fifty-six miles to Dublin. Still, nothing daunted, we began to transfer our kits from the suitcase to the brown paper. When we had finished we had two tidy-looking bundles much more convenient to carry than the suitcase.
While we were eating our dinner the question arose as to what we should do with the suitcase. We settled it by asking the proprietress to take care of it till we came back from Carlingford. She was quite willing to oblige us, she said, as Agna had been so obliging to her. I then paid the bill and we left the restaurant. I felt rather badly at leaving the suitcase behind me, as it had accompanied me for some ten thousand miles of my travels; it was like abandoning an old friend.